


Irony's Ghost

by TwoThings



Series: Tumblr Commissions [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: All Hail Megatron, F/M, Lost Light, Tumblr Commissions, commission, more than meets the eye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 15:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17266544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoThings/pseuds/TwoThings
Summary: Tumblr Commission for empress-of-destruction who wanted Megatron having a human pet during AHM and then meeting the pet again years later on the Lost Light. Warnings for angst and Stockholm Syndrome. Thank you and I hope you enjoy!





	Irony's Ghost

“So, y/n, why have you decided to join us?” Ultra Magnus is genuinely curious why a human - a social creature - would decide to venture so far from her home. Besides, all of the paperwork had been filed and all creases smoothed out perfectly. He thought it a relatively harmless question to ask. 

You brush back your hair, adjusting yourself in your seat upon his desk. You rub the back of your neck, trying to devise an answer to conceal the truth. “I suppose that I just wanted to see-”

“Ultra Magnus,” there is no time for the chill to travel down your back as you wipe around and make eye contact with red optics. You have seen so many pairs of them in your lifetime, but these were always special. These were the ones that looked at you with a dangerous glint in them, devious and scheming. They were almost always narrowed with thought when they looked at you, if they weren’t narrowed with lust. 

You may not have recognized his frame, but you knew those eyes. 

“All hail Megatron.” You look up, realizing that you have fallen to your knees and greeted him as you had been taught. 

As  _ Tarn _ had taught. 

You catch Magnus’ perplexed expression before it changed to suspicion. Megatron’s optics flash with recognition and he cooly apologizes on his way out the door, “I had not realized that you were in a meeting.”

Warily you get to your feet again, turning to face Magnus fully while biting your lip. You clench your hands to conceal their shaking. 

“It appears that we have more to discuss,” Magnus says flatly.

* * *

 

Rung’s eyebrows lowered as you left, shoulders slumped and face somber. He tried his hardest to make sure that his patients were in good spirits when they left their appointments, or at least calm. 

Of course, your experience had been exceptionally traumatic. Just like a good many of the survivors of the war, your memories were scarred by your time as a prisoner of war. However, none that he knew of had an experience like yours. 

Though he felt as though you had hidden many of your memories from him and concealed many of the details of those you revealed, Rung’s spark was wrenched by what you had decided to divulge. In keeping with his policies on confidentiality, none of what you said could be shared. 

Not even with his next patient. 

“Captain, please take a seat.” With a heavy servo Rung sets aside your datapad, finding Megatron’s in his cabinet and onlining it. “Was there anything in particular-”

“I assume that you know.” Megatron laid back on the berth, a whirlwind of emotions conflicting in his spark. 

“I-” Rung starts, only to be interrupted again. 

“I watched her leave this office.” Megatron says with a distant voice. “She has changed.”

The psychiatrist remained silent, waiting for him to continue. 

The wave picks him up and throws him, swirling him in a sea of guilt and remorse. “She has made me remember what I did, Rung.” His servos cover his faceplates as he groans, “The awful things I did to her.”

In this moment Rung remembers how differently you had acted when you had told him your story. There had been no tears nor cries of anger. Neither was there anguish, helplessness, or fear. You had been so unemotional, distant and cold - and somehow that was worse. To Rung that spoke to your powerlessness, your sense of resignation.

Megatron clenched his servos into fists as the feeling of mortification overcame him. 

_ “Aren’t you something to behold?” Your hollowed eyes merely gazed back at him.  _

_ His fingers tightened on the marble arms of the throne, forming small cracks in the stone, as he leaned forward and surveyed the sight of you. The cassettes had been given a simple task to distract them from their boredom - decorate you.  _

_ Shortly before the start of the war, it was common for femmes - espcially those with slender and light builds - to dance in the bars and hovels of Kaon. As the leader of the Decepticon movement, he had been given more than his fair amount of performances and lap dances by “grateful” femmes.  _

_ Somehow, Soundwave’s symbiotes had fashioned you an exquisite costume that spoke to the armor that the dancing femmes wore so long ago. What little fabric there was was purple, covering areas designed to draw attention to the wearer’s movements. They had chosen to wrap the fabric so that it was not pieces of armor, but rather a single long strip that wove around your thinned organic frame in a way that left little hidden from him - but not the areas typically covered by human clothing.  _

_ Rumble and Frenzy grinned, proud of their work as they spun you so that your back was facing the Decepticon Emperor. At the nape of your neck, just below the intricate metal collar, was your insignia. _

Megatron had intentionally buried that memory and all the rest of your “training.” He had become bored with no rivals to spar, so you had become his next amusement. 

In short, you had become his toy. 

Rung listened as Megatron told your story in random bits and pieces, taking notes that he could piece together like his model ships. He wrote down everything, from Megatron plucking you up from the slave ranks to when he last saw you - shortly before his fight with Optimus Prime. The details are so drastically different from yours that Rung has to believe that you have Stockholm Syndrome. 

A new layer of pity is added in his spark for you. 

“She only ever tried to run once.” Megatron’s voice had lost all of its emotion, almost becoming like yours had been. “But I caught her.”

_ “Just where do you think that you are going?” _

_ Your head snapped around, fear already in your little eyes as your oily, unkept hair swung. “Please.” you had begged but he had been in no mood for begging. He never was.  _

_ “You haven’t learned to obey me.”  _

_ He snatched you up roughly from the DC alley you had been cowering in, fingers holding you by the back of your filthy shirt. “Perhaps you no longer need my protection or my care?” _

_ “Please!” You cried, whimpering. “Take care of me.” _

_ It didn’t matter. He kept your already starved frame on a chain for the next few days, just out of your reach food and water. Only once you collapsed from sheer exhaustion and dehydration did he move them beside you.  _

Megatron confessed, feeling no point in hiding any of these truths. “Despite this she would try to find me before recharge to ask for food or a blanket. She was always cold and always hungry.”  _ Always dirty. Always neglected.  _

He had had few interactions with you, truly. Most of the time you lay curled up between his pedes while he sat on his throne, whether on the Nemesis or the Lincoln Memorial. Otherwise you were forced to amuse the cassettes or his officers with “party tricks,” but your voice was reserved for him. Only he could hear you sing. 

Megatron held you between his thumb and fingers while you sang - not the most comfortable of positions, but it certainly worked for him. He liked watching your face as you warbled. Shockwave had told him that humans could, theoretically, be cyberformed to carry sparklings. Perhaps, if the Autobots hadn’t saved Earth from him, he might have kept you as his Carrier. 

The former warlord is disgusted with himself for making those plans. He could not imagine your misery if you had been forced to carry his “heirs.” 

“I believe that will be all for today, Rung.” Megatron stands and Ravage follows suit. 

“I understand, Megatron.” Rung says softly, letting him go. There was no way to make the former tyrant feel better about his past transgressions - this one especially. But, you had been hired and they were already too far from Earth to send you back. 

As the door shuts, Rung thinks about how that may have been grotesquely ironic: Megatron dictating your life once again.

* * *

 

It wasn’t long before the crew figured out that something was wrong. All it took was an accidental swish of your hair for Tailgate to see your tattoo. The skin beneath it and around it was heavily scarred from the countless times you had tried to remove it. Megatron had had that put on you shortly after he decided to keep you. It was permanent, engraved not only into your skin but also your primitive organic cells. 

Until the day that you died you would wear his mark. 

Tailgate told Cyclonus, which wouldn’t have been a problem if Swerve hadn’t overheard. Figuring out why that was there was now the favorite topic of discourse in Swerve’s bar. They have a sense enough to shut up about it when either you or Megatron are around, but Whirl took it upon himself to provoke the old warrior. 

“What was she? Your  _ pet _ ?” 

Megatron takes a deeper swing of his glass. Ravage’s tail swishes from where he is hidden beneath a table. He remembers you too. 

His single optic narrows. “That’s why she has your mark on her neck, isn’t that right?” 

Swerve sinks behind his bar. Tailgate moves closer to Cyclonus. 

Then you are silhouetted in the golden light of the doorway. Seeing Megatron’s back you slink around the perimeter of the room, trying to stay unseen. 

Whirl’s optic catches you though. “Maybe I should ask her myself?”

“Leave her, Whirl. Your problem is with me.” Megatron doesn’t even turn to look at you, but he stands so that he towers over the former wrecker. 

Just like all orders given to Whirl, it is ignored. “Y/N, why did you leave Earth again?”

You bristle as Megatron’s optics follow Whirl’s to you, striking up fear and memories that you have tried so hard to forget, along with a bigger, sick feeling of excitement. You know that you shouldn’t feel this way about your abuser - but you do. You can’t help it. Your knees want to bend and kiss the floor, but they also want to run to him. 

“To escape.” 

“To escape what?” Megatron doesn’t stop Whirl, even though his very spark is demanding it. 

“They… they…” you pause, voice growing very quiet. All optics in the room are on you now. “Followed me everywhere.”

“Who?” Whirl starts to come closer, but Megatron grabs one of his arms. 

“The press.” You shiver, rubbing the back of your neck. “Called me a traitor to human kind.”

“I lost all of my friends and family that weren’t dead. No one wanted to speak to me afterwards…”

Megatron’s spark sinks and he looks away, shuttering his optics with the weight of his guilt. As with everything that he had conquered and ruled, he had staked his claim for you. 

Evidently he had staked it too well. 

“I needed to escape humanity, so I came here. Then you pardoned....” You couldn’t say his name. 

The tide of loneliness broke past the dam in your mind, drowning you in it. You bring a hand to your mouth as your eyes screw up and begin to water. You take a few steps toward Megatron. 

The ventilations systems of everyone in the room catch as Megatron takes a step towards you. Right now you were not the liaison - right now you were a pet. “Y/N,” he says gently. 

Your foot stops in midair. His tone was so tender; he had never said your name like that before. “Y/N,” he kneels before you, not attempting to reach and grab you as he could easily do. “I am sorry.”

You don’t open your mouth; you’re too busy staring at him with awe. “That can never change what I have done to you, never take away your scars.” 

“You may reject it. I will do nothing to stop you.” Megatron pauses for a moment, tone softening even more as he asks “Do you have anything to say to me?” You heard that Megatron had changed, but you could never be sure until you saw this.

“Humanity has turned their backs on me.” You start slowly, thinking as you talk. “But now that I have you, that doesn’t matter.” As you walk up to him and touch his servo, Rung bows his helm and the rest gasp in astonishment. Megatron makes optic contact with the psychiatrist, who shakes his helm sadly. Ravage cocks his head, blinking. 

Megatron then turns to look at you as you smile, rubbing your face against him. “I’ve missed you so much.” 


End file.
